


Kindling.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious John, Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: Sometimes John stared at the moon and wondered if he asked Harold for it, would he get it for him?John didn’t want the moon, but what he sought was something even more impossible.





	Kindling.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MulaSaWala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulaSaWala/gifts).



> I'll be honest, I struggled. The creative burn-out is a real and terrible thing. But I really tried with this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it ♥.
> 
> I have so many emotions about these two, and their obliviousness and their pining and their self sacrifice and their love for each other. As always, it was a delight to indulge in it.

 

“Do you really think there’s something that I would refuse to give you, Mr. Reese?”

John stopped at the door, unsure if he heard the words right. He didn’t turn back to see Harold’s expression. He couldn’t.

If he did, Harold would read entirely too much on his face—secrets he wasn’t ready to admit yet. Secrets he might never be ready to admit.

* * *

The apartment he lived in belonged to Harold.

So did the coat draped over John’s shoulders, and the shoes on his feet. He smelled of the perfume Harold had picked for him, slept on the sheets Harold had purchased for him, and ate food made of the groceries Harold had ordered for him.

Sitting on his bed, he looked around and realized that everything in his apartment belonged to Harold.

Was it any surprise that his heart decided to follow suit?

* * *

 

“Mr. Reese, what do you—“

“A couple of pliers, a knife, rope, a silenced gun… Anything I can use. I am good at improvising.”

There was sound of typing, quiet; John wondered if he had finally crossed a line, finally made Harold realize what sort of monster he was. He looked at their number, Mr. Richardson, who was involved in a sex trafficking ring, and wondered if there was any difference between the two of them.

Then Harold spoke. “There is a safe house ten minutes’ drive from your location. I have arranged for the material you required to be made available there before your arrival. I think somewhere discreet might be better for what you have in mind.”

John’s mouth ran dry. He knew Harold understood what he was planning to do, and yet there was no distaste in his voice.

“Finch…”

“I trust your judgment, Mr. Reese,” Harold answered the question John couldn’t even voice. “If you think this is the best way to save the girls before they cross the border, then I believe you.”

The lump in his throat was hard to swallow, but somehow this made it easier—having Harold’s trust, and his understanding.

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

“If I knew that you wanted another, _companion_ , I would’ve—”

The words angered John more than he would like to admit, especially coming from Harold, especially in that context.

“Don’t presume to know what I want, Finch.” There was no hiding the venom in his tone, directed more at himself for his unending want, rather than at Harold. He asked for too much, and worse still, he longed for even more.

“I…” John didn’t have to look at Harold’s face to know he must be confused; maybe even hurt.

“I’m going home. Call me if we get a new number.” He turned around and walked towards the door, wanting to escape before his control broke, before the ocean of his desire came rushing in.

But Harold was faster than him, and he had never let John run away before. He spoke before John was out of the door and safe to calm his heart and mind.

“Do you really think there’s something that I would refuse to give you, Mr. Reese?”

* * *

 

Want burned under his fingertips, and lit up his heart. It came slowly, catching John unaware. A spark ignited by indulgent looks and fake annoyance and a sharp wit that made John laugh more often than not. The spark grew into a flame that kept him warm on the days he shivered with the memories of dark alleys and cold blood on his hands.

He had been too busy enjoying the sudden burst of light in his life, too busy enjoying the radiance of Harold’s smile, to remember that his heart was a mess of drying twigs, fallen leaves and hollow trees; that once a flame caught, it would be a wildfire.

* * *

 

“While you’re working for me, you will find there is nothing that you might require that I can’t provide for you,” Harold had said, in the beginning, when John had just started working with him.

John had arched his eyebrows, and the quirk on his lips had been more of a cruel taunt than teasing. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Finch.”

“I don’t,” Harold had said, his voice full of conviction.

He hadn’t known about John’s heart being quicksand, devouring everything it was given and yet never being sated.

* * *

 

“I am afraid this is a natural biological reaction that doesn’t much care that I am displeased with it.” Harold’s voice had that sharp edge that told John he was embarrassed and slightly panicked, but trying to hide it.

He couldn’t focus on that, all his senses focused on the bulge in Harold’s pants.

Harold huffed, shifting slightly, “I would appreciate it if you would stop staring.”

John couldn’t; but he did look up and stare at Harold’s flushed face instead. “Can I?” John’s voice was hoarse, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it, hoping Harold would get it.

He did. He titled his face and there was a curious look on his face. “Are you sure? Pretending to be a customer at a sex club is one thing, I don’t actually expect you to—”

“You paid good money for me, Harold. It’s only fair you get your money’s worth.”

Harold looked affronted at that. “Mr. Reese, I assure you…”

“I want it,” John blurted out. “I want it, Harold. And you… you said…”

Harold had told him he could have anything he wanted; he only had to ask. John didn’t know if it was allowed, but then Harold was already opening his fly.

“Yes,” Harold said, and that was all John needed.

He sank to his knees and let himself accept the gift Harold offered him, before he changed his mind, before he decided that John was greedy, and his wants never ended; before he decided he had given enough and pushed John away.

* * *

 

John felt guilty in a way he shouldn’t have to; in a way he had no right to.

They weren’t exclusive. Hell, they weren’t even together. John’s touch was something Harold tolerated because of a promise he made a long time ago, and a sense of responsibility, and maybe pity.  Harold’s heart—the thing that even someone like John knew never to ask for—had never been in the cards. It was time John learned that.

So, if he had any emotions at all about it, Harold must be relieved John had taken his needs somewhere else for once, that he had found a willing body to find his release.

He still couldn’t shake off the sick feeling in his gut as he made his way to the library, feeling dirty for a reason he didn’t want to examine too deeply.

“Good morning, Mr. Reese. You’re right on time. I am afraid we have a new number.” Harold didn’t look at him, and it might be John’s own guilty conscience, but there was a tightness in Harold’s voice that matched with the one in his shoulders.

But they both had a job to do. A swimming instructor’s life was in danger—or she was going to endanger someone else’s life. You never knew at the first glance.

Harold didn’t say anything about John’s reckless activities the night before, despite John being braced for it. Somehow that just made it worse. It also led to John being caught unaware when at the end of the day, once the perpetrator was in jail where he couldn’t hurt his step daughter any longer, Harold turned to him with intent.

“Mr. Reese, about last night—”

“Don’t,” John interrupted sharply, not ready for this conversation. He was quite sure he would never be ready.

“I know what you do with your free time is no concern of mine,” Harold talked over him, his voice all business in a way that twisted John’s stomach. “But we need to have a conversation about your recklessness regarding yourself and your health.”

“I only fucked a guy, Finch. Last I checked, that’s hardly a health hazard.” John was deliberately crude, wanting Harold to drop this topic.

“A guy you met at a particularly shady bar and I am not sure if you took proper precua—”

“It’s what I wanted, Harold.” Fear and guilt made his tone sharp, and his words cut deep. “Isn’t that what you’re all about… giving me what I want?”

“If I knew that you wanted another… companion, I would’ve—”

“Don’t presume to know what I want, Finch.”

* * *

 

John couldn’t remember a time when he felt fulfilled.

There was always a gaping hollow of want inside him, a hunger that ached to be sated, but no matter how much he poured into it, it swallowed it all and asked for more.

When Harold had promised him he would never go wanting again, he had wanted to laugh, because Harold had no idea what he had been promising. But there had been a sincerity in his eyes that had made John stop his biting reply, and hope.

He should’ve known better.

Because Harold kept his promise; he never said no to John; he never refused him anything. He gave him his time, his company, his money… and when John selfishly asked for it, he even gave him his skin to touch and his body to wrap himself around.

And yet, John found himself staring at his ceiling, the hollow in his chest as gaping and hungry as ever, and John considered ripping his heart out of his chest because he was sure that would hurt less.

* * *

 

There was such a thing as self-preservation. John abandoned his the moment he walked into the library and saw the picture open on one of Harold’s screens.

This is why what he wanted, the one thing that he thought might fill the gaping hole inside him, was something he could never get.

Harold’s heart already belonged to another.

And the one who held it was smiling on the screen, her red hair aflame around her face, and a smile dancing on her lips.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold walked out from behind a shelf, “You’re here already. That’s good. As there’s no new number I was wondering if you might help me with…”

John couldn’t listen anymore. He turned around and walked out, breaking into a run once he was outside the library, running until he didn’t know where his feet carried him, lost… in every sense of the word.

And when he was contemplating drowning himself in the alcohol once again, a man with eyes the wrong shade of blue approached him. He knew Harold disapproved of John’s alcohol dependence. He had never disapproved of John’s sexual proclivities.

Drowning felt the same way, whatever the method.

* * *

 

John lingered at the doorway, watching Harold shut down his systems slowly. When Harold leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, sighing tiredly, John cleared his throat.

“Dinner?”

Harold smiled without opening his eyes. “Yes.”

“Thai sound good?” John asked, resisting the urge to walk closer to Harold, to kiss his forehead, to kiss the smile off his face.

“Mmmm,” Harold made a sound that John wanted to swallow from his lips, and then opened his eyes. Tiredness always softened Harold’s edges, making him lose some of his masks. “It sounds like heaven.”

“Good.” John waited for Harold to get his coat. “I know a place.”

* * *

 

“Do you really think there’s something that I would refuse to give you, Mr. Reese?”

John stopped at the door and didn’t turn around. If he did, he would give away entirely too much. Then Harold would know. He would no doubt find John’s insatiable greed distasteful.

“There are limits to even your generosity, Harold.”

He heard shuffling from behind him, the sound of Harold getting to his feet and stepping closer. As much as John wanted to run, his feet were glued to the ground.

“I don’t believe that.”

John shook his head, unable to form words. “Don’t, Harold. Please,” his voice was a mere croak, but the entreaty in it unmistakable. Harold ignored it as he came closer.

“Why don’t you ask me, then? Try me!”

* * *

 

John always asked first.

Before his hands reached for Harold’s buttons, before his lips pressed to Harold’s skin, before he let his need consume them both, he waited until Harold looked at him, and asked, “Can I?”

Harold always said, “Anything.”

If John was a better man, he would ask Harold if he wanted it as well, but he knew the answer to that already. ‘ _Natural biological reaction_ ,’ he had called it the first time, and that’s what it was. He knew that. It was obvious in the way Harold’s hands were never first to reach out, his lips never first to find John’s skin.

Harold never asked. He only gave—anything, everything that John demanded from him.

And John, greedy as he was, wasn’t just content with having his want sated. He wanted to see it burning in Harold’s eyes as well, to see it consume him as it did John. He wanted Harold to want.

* * *

 

Sometimes John stared at the moon and wondered if he asked Harold for it, would he get it for him?

John didn’t want the moon, but what he sought was something even more impossible.

* * *

 

Some days, a bullet traveled too close to the most precious thing in John’s life.

Some days, Harold almost got hurt.

Those days John’s hands shook, and his heart beat in his throat, and he couldn’t calm himself down no matter how many times he checked Harold for injuries he had barely managed to avoid.

“I’m fine, Mr. Reese. The bullet didn’t even graze me, thanks to you.”

“You shouldn’t have been on the scene, Finch. I had it under control.” He hadn’t. The way Harold arched his eyebrows told him Harold knew it too.

“Mr. Reese…” He looked up at Harold’s concerned face, realizing he had sunk to his knees in front of Harold’s chair without conscious decision. Relief had made his knees weak. “John.”

“Please, Harold.” John reached out and grasped Harold’s wrist, feeling the steady thrum of Harold’s pulse against his palm. “Please.”

He begged, not even sure what he was asking for. Harold seemed to understand though, because his fingers slipped into John’s hair. “Yes, of course, Mr. Reese. Anything you want.”

He gently pulled at John’s hair, until he was sitting with his face pressed to Harold’s thigh, Harold’s fingers caressing his scalp. His heart synced to the rhythm of Harold’s caress, and finally John took a breath that filled his lungs, the constriction in his chest opening to let in the air.

“That’s it. Everything is okay. Let it go.”

Trained to obey Harold’s every suggestion like an actual command… John did.

* * *

 

 “Why don’t you ask me, then? Try me!” Harold’s words had a challenge John was coward enough to admit that he would run away from…if he could.

But then Harold reached out and touched his arm. “John,” he used his first name, weakening his resolve even more. “John. Ask me. Whatever it is, just ask me, and I will find a way to give it to you.”

Even if he couldn’t answer Harold’s request, he could hardly resist Harold’s gentle pull to turn. He kept his eyes closed, but when Harold’s hands cupped his face, he couldn’t help leaning into the touch.

Harold never touched him first. After this, he might never do it again.

“What do you want, John?” Harold’s voice was whisper soft, and when John opened his eyes, Harold’s face was the same.

John was only human.

“Your heart,” he said.

Harold smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. But when he spoke, his words hurt worse than a bullet piercing skin. His words pierced John’s soul.

“How can I give you what I don’t possess?”

* * *

 

The taste of another’s skin lingered on his lips, despite how much he tried to rinse it away. It was a flavor of guilt and regret, and John thought he might never get rid of the taste entirely.

It had been… nice, in a way, to have hands reach out to him, and an eager mouth find his—how long had it been since John had last kissed someone on the mouth?—and a body that pressed back against him when he breached it, excited and willing.

Except, it hadn’t been nice at all, and John had to stifle the name he couldn’t take when he came. He hadn’t been able to stifle the sob.

* * *

 

“Finch, I can’t possibly accept…”

“It’s just a gift, Mr. Reese. You might even need it from time to time.” Harold turned around to look at him, his eyes sharp.

“I don’t need a three million dollar watch, Harold.” His lips twitched despite his protest, his eyes taking in the intricate design. Nothing should cost that much, especially not a watch, but it didn’t mean John couldn’t appreciate something beautiful.

“Maybe. But you do want it.” John opened his mouth to say something but Harold cut him off. “I saw the way you looked at the one Mr. Pierce gave you. I assure you, this one is better in every way.”

“I…” John didn’t know how to tell Harold that it wasn’t the watch that had been important. Not then, not now. And that this one was better. It would’ve been better even if it cost three dollars instead of three million.

The important part was Harold giving it to him.

“I’ve already purchased it, Mr. Reese. Might as well keep it.” Harold was already turning away, “At least this one doesn’t come with a tracking device.”

* * *

 

“How can I give you what I don’t possess?” Harold said, and John jerked back as if slapped.

“I am sorry.” He pulled away, finally having the answer he had always known and never wanted to believe. Never wanted to hear from Harold’s lips. But he had pushed too far and the pain was entirely his own fault.

Before he could walk away, to hide in his home and lick his wounds, a hand grasped his. He looked up at Harold, and there were no masks right now. Harold must be able to see how broken open he was, how damaged.

“Oh, John,” Harold said, compassion in his voice. “How can you not know?”

“I know, Harold, I know. You’ve made it quite obvious many times. It’s my own fault. I’ve always been too greedy.”

“No.” Harold voice was firm. When John didn’t turn around at his touch this time, Harold moved himself, coming close to him. “I am beginning suspect you don’t know anything at all.”

“You love her.”

“I do,” Harold said, his hand once again reaching out to cup John’s face, and then slipping into his hair, comforting where his words hurt. “But I’m afraid I am the one who is greedy here.”

“What are you saying, Harold?” John’s heart raced in his chest, making his voice catch.

Harold placed his other palm against John’s beating heart. “I’m saying that I already gave you what you’re asking for, before you even asked for it. Can’t you feel it, beating here, loud and _yours_?”

“Harold…”

“You’re asking for my heart. Do you not know you already have it?” Harold asked, before tugging John down until their faces were only inches apart.

“Can I?” Harold whispered, a question John had longed to hear from his lips for so long.

There was no other answer than the obvious, the one Harold gave him every time. “Anything.”

* * *

 

Harold’s lips tasted of cherry balm, and green tea, and something else that John didn’t even know he had been looking for, something that was entirely Harold.

And for the first time in his life, John’s heart was no longer empty. Instead it brimmed with love until it overflowed, spilling through John’s eyes in the form of tears, and flowing in his veins like an elixir that filled every gaping hollow that had ever existed, until John felt whole.

* * *

 

Harold woke up slowly, blinking at him sleepily, his eyes startlingly large without the glasses.

“Mornin’,” he smiled at John, his voice soft with sleep.

“Morning, Harold.” John reached out and caressed Harold’s face. He had been watching him sleep for the past few minutes, knowing it was at least a little creepy, but unable to help it. He had dreamed of this for so long that it was hard to believe it was real.

Harold leaned into his touch, humming happily, and John knew he could never have come up with something this beautiful even in his dreams.

His musing must’ve been obvious to Harold somehow, because he opened his eyes and despite his sleepiness, his eyes were serious.

“Anything you want, John?”

Swallowing around a lump in his throat—because having so much was dangerous, having so much meant he had just as much to lose—he gathered Harold in his arms, hugging him to his chest. “No,” he replied, because he knew Harold was still waiting for an answer. “I have everything.”

Harold nuzzled into his chest, his breath warming John’s skin. “Not even the new grenade launcher you’ve been browsing recently? Don’t think I’ve not noticed you leaving those tabs open deliberately.”

John chuckled. “No, Harold. Not even a new grenade launcher.”

“Alright then.” Harold shrugged, and then settled in comfortably. They wouldn’t fall asleep again, but it felt too comfortable to get up yet. If there was a new number, Harold’s phone would alert him, until then, John was content lying in bed with Harold, ensconced in Harold’s warmth.

“So… about that grenade launcher…” he asked later, when it was obvious they were too awake to stay still any longer.

Harold laughed, and John felt it reverberate against his chest. “You’re incorrigible, Mr. Reese.”

John laughed as well. After all, Harold had given him the moon already; John was sure he could be convinced about some light weaponry.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how you all like it? I tried a new style and will be grateful to know what you thought :D.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wantings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026132) by [merionees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merionees/pseuds/merionees)




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